


Arising Darkness

by FingolfinSilme



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi, SA 1996, Second Age, Siege of Imladris, Siege of Lindon, War of the Last Alliance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 12:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12531616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FingolfinSilme/pseuds/FingolfinSilme
Summary: When Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor, receives a suspicious letter from his friend Elrond, Lord of Imladris, he discovers that something dark is rising and that the peaceful years might be ending.





	Arising Darkness

A soft breeze made the leaves of the trees bordering the alley rustle. Gil-Galad, being for once able to enjoy the last rays of sunlight of a late summer afternoon, wandered through the gardens, his mind taken by the wind beyond the Sea. As he started back towards the doors leading to his office, he heard hurried footsteps from behind him. Turning around, he observed Deldhinor’s face, seemingly more anxious than normal. He was pale, his eyes haggard and he could have sworn that he saw the Elves’ teeth chattering. His chief councillor bowed slightly before he spoke in his usual hushed and rapid tone.

“Your Grace, a letter has come from the Lord Elrond of Imladris.”

Gil-Galad raised an eyebrow. Deldhinor’s urging manner disturbed him. His correspondence with Elrond was regular, so why would a simple letter cause such panic?  
“Tell me what is troubling you, Deldhinor. It seems to me that you have seen a ghost.”  
With that, he continued walking towards the halls, gesturing to Deldhinor to follow him. The latter stumbled next to Gil-Galad and handed him the problematic letter.

“Oh, it was much worse than a ghost, my lord. The messenger…it was a hooded figure. As tall as a bear he was. And as terrifying. On a horse, my lord, like a werewolf, eyes glowing red, and darker than the deepest abyss of the Sea. And the voice, like a rumble of thunder. He thrust the letter into my hand. “For the King,” he said, “from Lord Elrond.” Then he whipped his mount around and he was gone.”

By then, Deldhinor was shaking all over and grasping at Gil-Galad’s sleeve. The King had stopped and was staring at his counsellor, concerned. He doubted that Elrond would ever let such a figure enter his valley, let alone use it as a messenger. He was worried for Deldhinor. Was he ill and having hallucinations?

“Has anyone else seen the rider, Deldhinor?” He asked softly, his tone casual. He did not want to hurt him by revealing his doubts on his current mental state.

“The guards saw him, Your Grace. Their bows were aimed at him, no doubt.”

Gil-Galad frowned. He climbed the steps up to the polished door and pushed it open. He continued towards his office in silence, Deldhinor skittering behind him. Inside the room, he lit a fire in the hearth and sat the shaking Elf in one of the armchairs facing the crackling flames. He set Elrond’s letter on his desk before preparing some tea to try and soothe his poor counsellor.

As Deldhinor drank, Gil-Galad inspected the folded parchment. It was indeed Elrond’s seal, and the paper also was familiar to him. Taking a deep breath, he pulled off the wax with his nail and looked upon the tidy handwriting he knew was his friend’s. Glancing at Deldhinor, Gil-Galad sat at his desk and read the content of the letter with an unpleasant feeling of foreboding.

As his eyes moved from left to right across the lines of the letter, his face grew paler and his breath shorter. When he was done, he turned the parchment over, closely searching for any abnormal physical aspect. After a long while, he threw his head back with a moan. It was unquestionably from Elrond.

“Your…Your Grace…What does the letter say?” Deldhinor piped up, his eyes peering at the King from over the rim of his cup.

The words took some time to filter through his brain. At long last, he looked up but did not speak. Elrond’s words were so calm, his handwriting straight and neat as ever, showing no signs of a note scribbled in a hurry. Nevertheless, the subject was concerning. The Lord of Imladris was known to keep his ideas straight at all times, even in the worst moments, but this time, the situation was too extreme for anyone to think clearly. Something was obviously wrong. At long last, Gil-Galad folded the letter and stuffed it into the pocket of his long Council coat he had kept when he had walked in the gardens; cold winds were starting to blow at that time of year.

“Deldhinor, you must keep all this matter secret. I will ride promptly. Tell the guards who saw the rider that it was but a jest and that Elrond is holding a Council which requires my presence. Make sure that my horse is ready, as quickly as possible and command my personal guard to be ready to depart in half an hour.”

With this, he stormed outside, trying not to appear worried for the sake of the lords greeting him in the corridor. Slamming the door of his apartments, he slumped down against the wall and put his face in his hands. He knew he must be quick. Elrond’s life might depend on it, but he couldn’t go out in this state; no one must learn what was going on.  
He packed a few travelling necessities, strapped the scabbard of his sword at his belt and swung a cloak over his shoulder. As he passed the mirror on the wall, he glanced at his reflection. He seemed unwell. He splashed his face with water, smoothed back his hair and put a smile on his face before regaining the stables.

As he entered, the five Elves there walked up to him, bowing their heads before starting to speak all at the same time. Gil-Galad raised a hand to hush them and frowned as he saw that one of his guards was missing.

“Where is Elhadron? I have not dismissed him, as far as I know.” Despite his harsh tone, his throat tightened for he sensed something was amiss.

The Elves looked at each other and, finally, Haedirn stepped forward.

“Your Grace, Elhadron came to see us when Deldhinor gave the order of getting ready. He…he said we must not follow him and he was gone. My lord, do you think that has anything to do…with the rider?”

“So you have seen him too?” Gil-Galad put a hand before his eyes and shook his head. “Fine, Faervel, tell the rest of the guardsmen to set out immediately and find him. They must ride hard. We will be waiting for you at the gates.”

Faervel mounted his steed and spurred it away, the echo of the galloping hooves rang through the air as he sped away. When the sound had faded to silence, Gil-Galad jumped in the saddle and jerked his head towards the door. The guards followed him soundlessly. Reflecting back to Elrond’s letter, the King realised he should take more guards with him to Imladris. However, his friend explicitly stated he should come alone and he had already transgressed the rule by bringing his personal guard. “Always listen to Elrond.” He thought. When had he ever been wrong, really?

He looked ahead at the darkening sky. The night was approaching fast and there was no time to lose. Yet, it felt as if everything was so distant and unreal.

“Your Majesty? Are we to leave now?” Gil-Galad’s head snapped up at Haedrin’s voice. He seemed worried and Faervel was back, his long dark hair flapping in the wind.

“Excuse me. We are riding. Now.”

He hated seeing his men in such a state and he hated this feeling of dread which had settled in his stomach. However, what he hated even more as thinking that Elrond might be in danger. The idea was unbearable.

He nodded a sullen farewell to the guards at the main gate who responded by bowing deeply.

The fields went on and on, farther than his eyes could see. It was rich and bountiful land; a sight he loved and was proud of; the land of his people. It was, in a way, his heritage and heir, like a child he had brought to the world. The thought had always seemed pleasant but as the Sun disappeared behind the horizon, Gil-Galad crouched behind the tree and gagged, the taste of bile creeping up his throat and spilling into his mouth. This wasn’t like him, he knew, and he could not let anyone see him in this state; a King cannot seem vulnerable.

“Your Grace, are you feeling alright?” Faervel slowly walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to stop for the night or--”

Gil-Galad straightened up. “No. I will be with you in a second,” He said loudly so that the other guards could hear. “I am sorry you had to see me in this state,” He continued, his voice softer.

They rode through the night and again the next day without stopping. No matter how much the Elves begged him to stop so he could rest, the King pressed on longer. He could not lose one second.

By the end of the third day, it had started pouring rain and the ground was muddy and treacherous for the horses. However, they kept their speed. There was a village a few hours off and they might be able to get there before it got completely dark if they did not slow down. They were all eager to warm up over a tankard of ale and get some sleep, even Gil-  
Galad rejoiced at the prospect.

The path now sloped downwards on the border of a wood. The heavy rain had faded to a drizzle but the wind was harder than ever. Gil-Galad kept his eyes on the road, brooding his own dark thoughts until he heard shouts from behind him. He whipped around to behold a fallen Faervel. The latter’s mount reared, sending his hooves on the rider’s left arm. Faervel moaned, his features contorted in pain. The others dismounted. Haedirn kept the panicked horse at bay while Hinir and Duinor carried the wounded Elf towards the forest and propped him up a tree.

“We camp here tonight,” Gil-Galad announced. “Tend to his wounds, I will take first watch. You may sleep and eat but no fires and keep your voices low.”

Worry seized him again. Why did the horse rear? What was wrong with it? If Faervel could not ride, they were stuck here and it would delay their mission.

He went back to the road and crouched down to observe the ground. There was nothing. It might have been an animal crossing the horse’s path but it seemed too chancy.  
He slumped down against a tree away from the group. After a while, the voices of the Elves faded away and the wood was still and quiet.

“Your Grace, you should sleep.” He had not heard Faervel approach.

“And you should tend to that shoulder of yours. If you keep moving, you won’t be able to do anything and if we can’t ride tomorrow…”

A look of guilt fleeted across the young guard’s face.

“Ah, don’t worry, boy. Everything will be alright.” He smiled faintly and waved towards the trees behind. “Get some sleep, now.”

The Elf turned back with a small bow and disappeared in the darkness. A moment later, a shout echoed through the night.

Gil-Galad sprang up and ran back to his guards, heart pounding fast, to find them all aroused.

“What’s going on?” 

Each of his men whipped around to face him. They stood unmoving for what seemed like years.

“Fire, your grace. The village below is on fire.”


End file.
